My style is so damn convoluted,
became shackled by my blueprint,
that’s some brutal terms you’re glued to fella,
edit edit edit edit pass.
Patchwork quilting, inlay built-in, stubborn silk in craft,
unstitching cheese in every bar like
Edit edit edit edit nah.
Scrap that one buddy,
over understudied til my tongue’s all bloody,
over complicated even when I do flex,
how do cats write a throwaway and still beat chests?
How them half hit punchlines go primetime while the rafts hit shorelines?
Any dullard making off with the door-prize,
old heads all dulling, dumbing down dead trying to claw time.
Wanna say something wanna feel fulfilled,
wanna kill some but never feel kill kill,
what a slow down egghead real shill deal,
to edit edit edit edit fuck.
Backspace backspace dead it,
nice big word, can you actually spell it?
Scrunch that one son, shoot the hoop,
wastebin pile full of half whole-truths.
Man I’ve never been the kind to play ball.
Never ever avid on reading the playbook.
Grew up Cobain, slow lane, skill first basis,
no pre-talk, no upsell baseless,
yelling bout the table, televising the waitlist,
I spent my time painting my own seat through hate shit.
When they’d heckle at the back, snigger at the front,
on the convoluted code and resilience,
salivating at the mouth on its brilliance,
levitating on the stage with my belly out,
rebuttal brush stroke subtle oiled out
on the edit edit edit edit…

But right now, no time to glow Picasso,
take your poop-mouth go live in the past though,
genuine leather-bound limit for arsehole,
hot-stamp branded with a finger to fuck off, or sit on, spin on,
pick your nose with it,
legitimate be into progressiveness and its dialogue or play facilitator in degradation and side on,
many of your own swords now to fall and die upon brother.
Keep calling other,
or set it to the past, learn to be a better lover.
All the world’s ills from abuse,
round the frills and the root,
forced programming bruise all youth.
Every girl has a timeline blitzed with the times it was used,
plus a dense back catalogue of all the best tunes to dance to,
age like all of their fans do,
we can keep dwelling, selling candy to bad tooth,
it’ll fallout from the fall out.
Tuck your balls in boy, you still kiss your mother with that mouth?
Does she smell it on your breath fella?
Sorry ma’am, better edit edit edit edit damn…

Didn’t edit that enough,
time shedding all the skins of the tough,
came to realise there aint much tougher,
than those in transition and those keeping up.
All the snubbed out weirdos in spiked collars.
All the same sex hand holds who out cupboards.
All the fuck you NO, this is me holding my ground,
Sit down, whole world of us.

The shock jock era now done dead,
dull as a white wall painted that colour again,
but a soundboard of out of date petulant men,
still wanna poly round the precipice letting em swing,
better regulate the woman hate or melle with them,
most of them in real life likely nice gentlemen,
with strong mothers, sisters, lovers and cousins,
who sat through the jokes still supporting the hustle with tense muscles.
Who can outcast faster?
welcome reprise, demise of past masters,
make a b-line and refine your harsh laughter,
better be kind and in kind you’ll cast farther.
On the precipice of next gen editing,
less aid and abetting the pained middle men.
Watch it play out.
Watch the whole spoon metal bend,
old douche rouse find severance.

Could hear a pin drop here in the haystack,
I edit dead sea scrolls til its one track,
but old me must’ve had new me’s back,
I feel for you looking back trying to edit that.
It’s a time where Aus raps going black,
what an odd line, of course we support that,
but somehow in the cracks of the core kings,
still taking women and gay to trash.

Aint a hashtag bandwag,
my code red long coded in glow mesh,
trying to be liked I’d hide out and grow tech,
now I don’t feel scared to be open.
Tried to battle, I was fake, that’s a bloke thing,
found balance in my fans and my feminine,
appeared late but revered and settled in,
had me questioning the music that I meddle in,
for so long.
Where the girls went ghost.
Felt unwelcome in their home.
Had to hard up, bully up, boast 10 times as hard as equivalent blokes,
some topic need a soft edge, some they don’t,
past odes all convoluted fluffed with flow,
my clothes all dripping with complicit, they’re soaked,
no doubt this need to be aired out, no code.